The East Colonnade now featured life-sized bronze statues of former staffers, each mid-applause. “It’s just respectful,” said Stephen Miller, Director of Narrative Operations. “Our patriots deserve to be preserved at peak loyalty.” A roped-off statue of Melania stood tallest—serene, exaggerated, unreal.
“They finally got it right,” Trump smiled. “It’s based on that magazine shoot from her twenties. Beautiful work. Historic.”
“The First Lady’s beauty is an American export,” Miller added, adjusting the spotlight for optimal gleam.
Visitors were asked not to touch the base—“It’s fragile and Italian”—but many left roses, candles, and gently used handbags. One woman knelt and whispered, “Thank you for standing by him.”
The final exhibit—Pentagon of Power™—featured a backlit copy of The Art of the Deal and a looped video of Trump explaining tariffs. Entry came with a certificate of indoctrination and a coupon for one free KFC Popcorn Patriot Bucket™.
That night, as the Food Court of Freedom™ flipped to its all-night menu, a janitor paused beside the bust of George Washington.
He caught his reflection in the glass—and flinched. Just for a moment. Then looked away.
The air had gone still.
The chants were gone.
The fryer buzz had faded.
The bust seemed to glisten.
“It’s probably just condensation,” the janitor muttered.
He knew better.
George Washington was weeping mayonnaise.
Outside, tour buses kept arriving. Headlights swept the facade like searchlights over a crime scene no one wanted to investigate.
The scent of fryer grease drifted into the night.
It smelled, unmistakably, like victory — and like something too deep, too artificial, to ever scrub out.